(A furious thunderclap split the heaven)
Deep within the city's most exclusive hillside enclave, inside the sprawling, ostentatious Lu Family Mansion, a sliver of pure white light descended unseen, merging into the chest of a man unconscious upon a bed draped in the finest Egyptian cotton.
A tremor ran through the body.
Slowly, with an unnatural fluidity, the man sat up. Broad shoulders strained the seams of a ridiculously expensive suit, a garment that seemed forged for a deity. His face was a masterpiece of sculpted indifference—sharp, masculine, breathtakingly cold... too perfect for any mortal man.
His eyes fluttered open.
"...The hell is this?"
His hand moved, almost by reflex, towards a crystal glass of water on the bedside table. The fingers – long, elegant, possessing an artist's precision – grazed the cool surface. The water trembled, disturbed by the presence of an alien soul.
He raised the glass to lips sculpted for sin and temptation. He took a sip.
And promptly choked, sputtering.
His previously languid eyes flew wide with shock. "T-Tap water?!" He scanned the opulent room, his gaze darting wildly. Unfamiliar portraits stared back, strange blinking gadgets lined the walls, stacks of documents lay written in characters he barely used... and a distinct chill permeated the air, unrelated to the silent air conditioning.
"A nightmare," he breathed, clutching his head. "This has to be a nightmare."
Drawing a ragged breath, he clenched his hand—a hand seemingly carved from ivory—into a fist and swung it squarely into his own perfect jaw.
Crack!
A trickle of blood traced a path down his sculpted chin.
"OW! SON OF A—!"
The pain was searingly real. The blood was undeniably real. The impossibly perfect body? Still intact.
"Am I... a mutant?" he whispered, horrified. "Why is this body so ridiculously strong? Wait... Kidnapped? Organ traffickers! They want my perfect kidneys!"
Shaking like a sculpted poplar leaf in a gale, he stumbled towards the heavy door. His hands—divine instruments that could have belonged on Michelangelo's David—fumbled violently with the lock.
"Please," he prayed under his breath. "Don't let there be monsters."
He cracked the door open and peeked.
Staff. Uniformed staff everywhere. Moving with quiet efficiency, chatting in low tones as if this palace were merely their workplace.
"Did you hear?" one maid murmured to another, voice dripping with disdain. "Madam actually booked a whole hotel floor... with male models. It's all over the trending topics again."
"Utterly shameless," sniffed the other. "Why the Old Master insisted she marry our Young Master is beyond me. She's nothing but a—"
"Silence!" A sharp reprimand came from an older man, impeccably dressed in a butler's uniform. "Regardless of circumstances, Madam Lu is the mistress of this household. Watch your tongues."
The servants scattered, but the man at the door—our protagonist—was already spiraling.
Brainwashed! It's a cult! They're all completely brainwashed!
And who was this 'Madam' causing such scandal? Sounded like a character straight out of a trashy historical drama!
"Escape. Must escape," he muttered, eyes darting towards the large window.
Without a second thought, he launched himself through it.
Mid-air, a frantic prayer escaped him, "Oh, benevolent heavens, forgive my trespasses, but PLEASE give me a soft landing!"
The manicured lawn below offered no such mercy.
CRACK.
He landed hard on his knees, legs buckling at an unnatural angle. His body slammed into the earth, a symphony of dirt, grass, blood, and wounded pride. A violation of divine artistry.
"...Still breathing?" he gasped.
"...Is this regeneration?"
Miraculously, the intense pain faded almost instantly. His legs straightened with eerie ease.
"They experimented on me! Turned me into some kind of super-soldier lab rat!"
Nearby, a gardener paused his pruning, alerted by the thud. He frowned, peering towards the bushes, but was distracted by a bright voice.
"Dad! Chef needs fresh herbs—where are they?" A young, newly-hired maid bounced over.
"Ask Butler Wang. And try not to cause trouble on your first day," the gardener sighed, turning back to his work, dismissing the noise.
Hidden beneath the very bushes the gardener had eyed, the man—now decorated with mud and bruised dignity—attempted to scale a nearby tree.
Snap.
The branch gave way instantly.
He landed flat on his back with a grunt.
"Damn it all!" he cursed, rubbing his sore backside. "What did they pump into this body? Why is it built like a tank but weighs a ton?!"
Fueled by the righteous fury of the unjustly imprisoned, he made a mad dash for the rear gate, scrambled gracelessly over the high fence, and tumbled down onto the road outside.
Freedom. Or perhaps, just the next stage of the nightmare.
Meanwhile, in the city's tallest, most intimidating skyscraper, a man drowning in paperwork, his eyes webbed with red veins, growled, "Our CEO is inhuman. A tyrant wrapped in designer clothes."
"Secretary Han," a voluptuous woman in killer heels clicked into the office. "Have you located Mr. Lu? The emergency board meeting is about to commence."
"...He was scheduled to arrive at 4 AM sharp. I... I have no idea where he is," the secretary stammered, his face paling visibly.
Back on the roadside, the escapee swore as a sputtering van sped past, kicking up dust.
"Fine! Don't offer a ride! But must you choke the planet and shower me with dirt, you inconsiderate gas-guzzler?!"
He waved again, more desperately this time, at an approaching obsidian-black luxury sedan.
The car screeched to an abrupt halt.
The uniformed chauffeur inside stared, eyes wide, taking in the sight: the ridiculously handsome face, the powerful build beneath the torn, muddy suit, the innate aura of command clashing with the sheer disarray.
"...M-Mr... CEO Lu?!"
The man blinked.
"...Who?"
The luxury car door hissed open. The chauffeur leaned out, scrutinizing him further.
"It... It is you? CEO Lu?"
The protagonist paused, then flashed a brilliant, utterly disarming smile that sat bizarrely on his dirt-streaked face.
"My friend," he said with profound sincerity, "you must have mistaken me for someone else. The name's Su. Su Yu. Just an ordinary office worker, slaving away for peanuts. Definitely not your esteemed, probably overbearing CEO."
The chauffeur's brow furrowed. He gave Su Yu another long, appraising look.
"...Ah. My mistake." He seemed to relax slightly, almost chuckling. "Our CEO possesses the aura of an emperor. You... you look like you wrestled a badger in a ditch and lost."
Su Yu's smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Aura your grandpa! I AM practically celestial! This is just temporary degradation!
He swallowed the insult, channeling the long-suffering spirit of a true corporate drone. He leaned casually against the open car door, sighing dramatically. "You're right, of course. How could a mere mortal like me compare to your god-tier CEO?" His voice dropped, laced with theatrical bitterness. "My own boss... a complete energy vampire. Drains my very soul, minute by minute. Feels like my life force is being sold off cheap."
The chauffeur froze.
A single, poignant tear welled in the corner of his eye.
"...Brother," he choked out. "You understand."
Su Yu nodded with the gravity of a war veteran finding a fellow survivor.
"My CEO once demanded a full market analysis during my grandmother's eulogy."
The chauffeur's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
"...Mine made me rewrite the quarterly projections during my wife's C-section. Said 'multitasking builds character'."
A profound silence descended. Two men, united by the shared trauma of corporate servitude, their souls weeping in silent solidarity.
"Get in," the driver finally managed, his voice thick with emotion. "We downtrodden workers must support each other."
Su Yu beamed, opening the passenger door. "Thank you, Brother! May your future generations be spared the tyranny of your CEO!"
"And yours as well," the driver whispered, discreetly wiping his eyes as he pulled away from the curb.
The luxury car sped off, carrying two kindred spirits bound by the universal agony of unreasonable bosses.
Meanwhile,
In a dazzlingly bright, perfume-heavy showbiz dressing room – a battlefield littered with makeup palettes and shattered egos – chaos erupted.
CRASH!!
A hand mirror met its demise against the pristine marble floor, glass fragments scattering like angry diamonds, reflecting the incandescent fury of the woman who had thrown it.
She stood, a vision in a form-fitting crimson gown that clung to her flawless figure – a goddess sculpted from ambition and rage.
Her perfectly painted red lips twisted into a snarl. "HOW did the plan fail?! Everything was arranged! That little tramp Su Manman was supposed to be exposed in that hotel room with those rented pretty boys! Why did they end up in MY suite instead?!"
Beside her, a nervous assistant in glasses clutched a tablet, visibly trembling.
"S-Sister Linling..." she stammered. "The instructions were clear. We told the contact to direct them to Miss Su Manman's room. B-But somehow... they were rerouted to yours. And... apparently, Brother Hu himself alerted the paparazzi. The models were discovered... incapacitated."
"WHAT?!"
Linling's eyes blazed. She lashed out with a crimson-stilettoed foot, sending a plush velvet stool tumbling end over end.
"Why?! Why does Brother Hu still protect that scheming, two-faced shrew?! She isn't fit to lick his boots!"
The air in the room grew heavy with her fury.
The assistant shrank back. "S-Sister, please be careful... Remember, you are Young Master Lu's wife now..."
The mention of her husband seemed to douse Linling's fire with gasoline.
She let out a short, sharp laugh devoid of humor, dripping with contempt. She elegantly flicked her waterfall of dark hair over her shoulder.
"Married?" she sneered, her eyes flashing. "To that block of ice? In name only. That man is a robot programmed for work, work, work. Glacial, dull, utterly devoid of passion. Tch—he couldn't hold a candle to Brother Hu's charm, not even if he lived a thousand years."
She turned towards the fragmented mirror, examining her own fractured, yet still stunning, reflection.
"He can have the title 'Husband of Linling'. A convenient arrangement."
Her fingers tightened around a tube of blood-red lipstick as if it were a weapon.
"But my heart? It belongs solely to Brother Hu."
Just as her rage threatened to peak again, her diamond-encrusted smartphone vibrated sharply on the vanity, its ringtone a sickeningly sweet melody.
She snatched it up, pressing it to her ear, her voice tight with barely contained anger.
"What now?"
A sharp, cultured voice snapped back, laced with anxiety.
"Linling, darling, what is going on? The internet is buzzing with rumors about you and male models! Are you actively trying to induce my heart failure?"
Linling casually began applying a fresh coat of crimson nail polish, her tone bored.
"Relax, Mother. It was clearly a setup meant for someone else."
The woman on the phone sighed dramatically, the clinking of expensive jewelry audible.
"Setup or not, the damage is done! If you must indulge, can't you be discreet? Do you have any idea how much the Su family stock plummeted this morning because of this scandal?"
A pause, then a voice dripping with acid—
"If only you possessed a fraction of your stepsister Su Manman's cunning. That girl already has several influential men wrapped around her little finger. She understands how the game is played."
Linling's polishing hand paused infinitesimally, but her expression remained glacially calm.
She lifted her chin, a smug smile playing on her lips.
"Don't fret, Mother. Mr. Lu will handle the fallout. I did save his grandfather's life, after all. He owes me."
A beat of charged silence crackled over the line. Then her mother's voice, low and venomous.
"...Shameless. You truly are shameless, Linling."
"It was Manman who performed first aid on Old Master Lu."
"You merely arrived late, staged a tearful performance, and stole the credit. Playing the heroine doesn't make it true."
Linling's hand was rock steady as she finished painting her nail.
A sly, knowing smile touched her lips.
"...I know."
She ended the call with a decisive tap, the screen going dark. The room fell silent, save for her own sharp breaths and the faint, lingering echo of shattered glass.
"Useless old woman," she muttered, tossing the phone onto the vanity as if it were contaminated.
Just then, the dressing room door creaked open. A junior assistant poked her head in timidly.
"Madam Linling, they're ready for your scene..."
Instantly, the fury vanished from Linling's face, replaced by a mask of radiant warmth.
Like flipping a switch, she rose, her posture perfection, her expression soft, luminous, and impossibly gentle. She glided out of the room, every movement radiating the effortless grace of a beloved star.
As she stepped onto the bustling outdoor set, cameras flashed, crew members offered respectful nods, and the very air seemed to still in admiration.
Just then, an elderly extra, dressed in convincingly worn clothes, stumbled near the edge of a platform, teetering dangerously.
Linling's lips curved, not in annoyance, but into the most heartwarming, sincere-looking smile imaginable.
She surged forward, her movements fluid and graceful, catching the old woman securely.
"Auntie, please be careful! Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice dripping with honeyed concern, the very picture of a benevolent screen goddess.
More flashes erupted. Crew members sighed audibly.
"So kind," someone whispered. "Just like her characters!"
"And... CUT!" the director yelled, beaming.
The instant the cameras stopped rolling, the warmth evaporated from Linling's eyes, leaving only icy disdain.
She subtly pushed the elderly woman away, brushing imaginary dust from her designer gown sleeve.
"Where did wardrobe dredge up that relic?" she snapped under her breath.
Turning to her trembling assistant, she commanded sharply,
"Hand sanitizer. The strong stuff. Immediately."
As she vigorously cleansed her hands, she muttered coldly,
"The next time some peasant wanders into my shot unscripted, legal action will follow."
With that, she turned on her heel, spine straight, chin held high, every inch the venomous goddess, and swept away.